


A Field of Goodbyes

by geniewithwifi



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Nanda Parbat, Nanda Parbat marriage, Season 3 Speculation, Season 3 sex scene, Spoiler based, The mornining after, oliver is branded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewithwifi/pseuds/geniewithwifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after Oliver and Felicity spend a night at Nanda Parbat, many choices are made, bargains upheld. Through it all, all she can do is love him. </p><p>A continuation of Bre's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3670851">To This Moment</a>. Reading that first is strongly advised but not necessary. </p><p>Based on Spoilers from the Arrow Season 3B Sacrafice Look Ahead Promo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Field of Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To This Moment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670851) by [Bre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre). 



> After a day spent obsessing and freaking out over the new spoilers, dettiot managed to persuade me to find some food and take a shower. And what do you know! PLOT BUNNIES. This means a brilliant idea.
> 
> This originally was just going to go in my drabbles collection as a morning after Nanda Parbat prompt. But then Bre posted her story and I thought It would be the perfect beginning to my ending. Voila! A wonderful two part series. you're welcome.
> 
> I admit this was suppose to be angst. It was suppose to end horribly and sad and just all around painful. And it is, right up until the end when Oliver and Felicity decided that they wanted a happier ending. I complied. BLAME THEM. Also, Oliver might be a little OOC at one part. Bear with me. 
> 
> Rated M for torture.
> 
> Reviews feed the Muse!
> 
>  
> 
> **This work may not be reposted without my consent**

Felicity didn’t know what woke her. It could have been the sun coming through the window or perhaps it was the eerie lack of noise in this intricate palace. She had decided that Nanda Parbat was like the Queen Mansion; intimidating and silent, used more for décor than a real home.

A warm arm was wrapped around her waist, encasing her in comfort and a feeling of being home. Without looking, she knew it was Oliver. Only he could have this kind of effect on her. She was filled with the relief of not having to pretend or deflect or lie. He was the only person that she could be herself with. They knew each other so profoundly that she marveled that they weren’t one entire person. He completed her in ways she never knew.

With Ray, there was always something missing. Yes, there had been love, passion, kindness, witty banter across the room. There had been Doctor Who marathons and candlelight dinners. He should have been perfect for her. On paper he was. But for all of Ray’s perfect qualities, he couldn’t give her one thing: the inexplicable feeling of belonging.

Here, wrapped tight against Oliver she belonged. She fit his every plane, the ones of his heart, his soul, his mind and his body. No perfection on paper could replicate that.

Shifting slightly, her head scooting along Oliver’s bicep which had been her pillow for the very short hours they had slept, she looked over at the man she loved. His fingers had been tracing her abdomen, writing cursive letters in strange languages. She smiled at him, temporarily forgetting the sense of foreboding the dawn brought. Oliver looked back at her, but instead of mirroring her happy smile, his eyes held only anxiousness and grief. It was the same look he wore in a hospital corridor, one that would break her heart.

She could feel her smile slip and tears welling up behind her eyes. Biting her lower lip, she flipped all the way over, pressing herself as close as she could get to his naked body, arms encaging him. “No…” she whispered, heartbroken.

His hand that she had been laying on curled up to comb through her messy hair. The motion was meant to be a soothing gesture, and it partially was, only because it was from Oliver.  She couldn’t contain the tears anymore. She felt them slide down her cheeks onto his pecs.

“Hey…” He mollified, drawing her head back from his chest. “Felicity…” She could hear the same heartbreak in his word that she felt in her heart. How many times could she have her heart broken by the same man? The answer came to her almost immediately. As many times as she fell in love with him.

That was their pattern it seemed. Every day she would fall in love with him more and every day he would break her heart. This intricate dance they performed, forwards and backwards, pulling, tugging, twisting. All in the name of love and pain. Must haves and self sacrifices. The punishment for loving a hero.

Oliver gently kissing her head, making her remember the other time he had kissed her on her forehead. This was of the same kind; a kiss of farewell. He would always be leaving her. Everyone she loved always left. One day, Oliver would leave her, and never come back. Felicity dreaded that day.

Then Oliver finished the parallel. “Hey, always remember. I love you.” He murmured, pulling her head against his own. “Felicity, I will always love you. No matter what happens today.”

She couldn’t help it. The agony he was inflicting again demanded retribution. “When will you pick me?”

Felicity could hear the twinge of longing in her voice. Oliver sighed, his warm breath gushing over her wet face. She continued. “Will you _ever_ choose me? Will you ever decide to stay, and give a chance. When will this” she gestured to them, the bed and everything in between, “never be a goodbye. When will we be a _beginning,_ not an _ending?”_

Oliver closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Felicity, I don’t know. All I know is right now. I choose you last night, but today is a whole different story. I don’t—“

The rest of Oliver’s words were cut off by sharp pounding on the door. Immediately Oliver tensed, wrapping one arm around Felicity tight and sitting up in one motion, is right arm out, ready for a fight.

“Al Sahim. The Demon awaits your presence.” The cold, clipped voice rang through the bed chamber.

Felicity watched as Oliver groaned softly, his face slowly hardening as he put up all his walls, all his masks and faces. She watched as the man she loved became someone else. Regretfully, he pulled her arms away from him, climbing from the bed. Right before he let her hand go, she grasped it tightly as she could.

“I love you. I _love_ you. I love _you.”_ Briefly, for a half an instant, he smiled at her and she could see past all the barriers he hid behind. But just as fast, that moment was gone. Oliver Queen disappeared behind the hero, the villain, the conflicted and the martyr.

The bed cold without his body heat, she followed his actions, routinely gathering up clothes and dressing. When he was decent, he came over to her, his hands tangling at the nape of her neck, drawing her in for one last kiss.

She surged up against him, hands cradling his head. Everything she had every felt about him she poured into that kiss. Her love for the heroic way he loved, her anger at him for pushing her away, her anguish at him leaving her _again,_ her frustration at his stubbornness. He kissed her hard, absorbing all of them, taking them for the blows they were. Felicity was a fighter and she would go to hell and back for Oliver. Only if he would let her.

All too soon, he pulled away, forcibly removing her when she clung to him. Within a blink, he was gone, out the door and into the gray dawn.

* * *

After returning to her own rooms and changing into something that was not last night’s clothing, a fresh breakfast and a hot shower later, she prowled around Nanda Parbat. While she had free reign over going everywhere, at the same time she wasn’t permitted anywhere. No one approved of her presence. She could feel it in the tension that the air held every time a hooded Assassin stormed by.

Low chanting in a side hallway caught her attention. Cautiously, she crept down the hallway, peeking in the doorway. What she saw made her clap her hand to her mouth in dismay.

In the center of the room stood a brazier, hot coals glowing red against the black of the cast iron. Ra’s Al Ghul stood with his hands behind his back while another assassin held a burning brand against the naked torso of a back she had run her hands down in passion.

Oliver.

He was sitting backwards on a chair, hands clenching the fragile knobs at the top. His shoulders were hunched in pain.  The firelight cast a shadow upon his half turned face, letting her see the agony he was suffering.

His eyes were dull, and even though she was in his sight, he wasn’t looking at her. His presence had turned inside himself, his spirit rebelling against the punishment he was imposing upon himself. She was shaking, all muscles tensed in a similar way last night. But that had been relief and pleasure and this was pure terror. She could see the tears behind his eye that refused to fall. Torture was one thing, but this…this was something else.

She knew Oliver and so she knew that if they had tied him, he would have accepted it as torture. He’s done torture, his mind knows the routine. Hid from the pain until either you give them what they want or when they stop.

But by not tying him, it was forcing Oliver to focus. He had to focus on not moving, of not breaking free, of not fighting. He couldn’t retaliate against his attackers, couldn’t hid from the pain. He was forced to embrace it, submit to it, to want it.

He had to become the fire.

After what seemed like hours, the priestess Felicity had missed in her initial inspection motioned to the Assassin and the brand was removed from Oliver’s shoulder blade. It revealed scarlet skin, raised and bumpy in the shape of an arrowhead. Intricate designs weaved in and out in the confined shape. It was beautiful, in the most morbid way possible.  

She watched as the three of them left, Ra’s touching Oliver on the shoulder and whispering to him. Two seconds later and the room was empty of all but Oliver.

Hesitantly, she stepped in the room. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her presence. She doubted he even knew it was her. He probably just knew it was _someone._ Oliver was freaky sensitive like that.

In the dark corner to her right, she noticed a bowl filled with some kind of liquid. A cloth sat next to it. Relying on systematic impulse, she grabbed the bowl and the washcloth, traipsing over to the hunched man. Oliver’s head had drifted to the back of the chair, eyes shut.

As tenderly as treating road rash or a knife cut, she dabbed water on the damaged skin. Oliver went rigid as the water stung, his breath hissing out like water to steam. _How appropriate._

Instantly, she sobered, knowing now was not the time to make light of something so serious. His head had whirled, eyes widening when he recognized her. But he chose not to say anything, to accept her presence. Methodically, she treated the wound, zoning out, pretending that they were at the foundry.

Slowly, the water in the bowl turned pink with the blood that was oozing through the cracked skin. Then, gently as she had the night before, she brushed her lips over it. She could hear Oliver let out a breath. Felicity accepted this, just like she had accepted the rest of his scars. This is what made him who he was and she loved every bit of it.

He stood up, turning to face her fully. He brushed one hand past her cheek, a small, sad, half smile tugging at his lips. Oliver then turned and left out the same door the trio had taken, leaving Felicity standing in the room, against the harsh firelight.

Alone.

* * *

It was over a week before she saw him again.

An Assassin had found her in that room, wordlessly escorting her back to her room.  From there, it was obvious she had been confined to her room. Every time she had tried to step out, an Assassin was there, motioning her back it. Trays were slid in thrice a day, removed when the next one arrived.

The only clue she was given that the deal with Ra’s had gone through was the glimpse of Thea, alive and well, at the end of her corridor before she was shutter back in by the constant guard at her door. Oliver never came to see her.

Felicity didn’t know if he was even allowed to see her. Perhaps Ra’s had instigated a guard to keep Oliver from her. She could even acknowledge that thought that maybe he didn’t come to her because he didn’t want to see her. That he was avoiding her. It hurt too much to think like that.

On this particular day, the Assassin had come into her room. He silently motioned to her, briskly walking out of the room.  Felicity had no choice but to follow him.

Through a maze of corridors and rooms she followed him, only her footsteps echoing eerily on the flagstones. Through glimpses between forking hallways, she noticed assassin training; some with swords and others with bows.  They were gorgeous, if she didn’t know that they could kill her with barely a bat of the eye.

Felicity and her silent escort entered a large chamber, a throne at one end of the room. Oliver was kneeling before, only on one knee. When they entered, he turned and looked at her, before going back to his supplicating. She saw Ra’s flick a finger, and the Assassin pushed her roughly forward, causing her to land on her hands and knees. Felicity saw no reason to move from that position.

Ra’s chilling voice echoed around the room. “Rise, Al Sah-eem. Since you brought her here, it is your task to deal with her. Remember, my son, that love is weakness. It was the love for your sister that brought you here. As the daughter of Al Saher, and your sister, she is allowed the comforts of my home. _She,_ however, is not. Now, do what is necessary.”

Felicity expected Ra’s Al Ghul to sweep out of the room again, but to her surprise, he only leaned back on his throne, casually watching through soulless eyes.

Oliver turned towards her, gazed focused on only her face. What she saw scared her. Never in her life had she been scared of Oliver, though she had seen every face, except what she saw portrayed there now. She had seen him enraged, scared, hurt, passionate. But never, _never_ this.

His eyes were empty. A cold, dark abyss stared back at her and she was afraid.

Every time Oliver had ever looked at her, she had always seen something of him looking back. Whether it was a softening look, a quiet ‘hey’, a gentle touch. She had been able to reach something in Oliver, bring back his humanity. The one that he had apparently lost in seven days.

“You are to return to Starling City upon the morrow.” His voice carried, harsh and brittle. “You and John Diggle.”

Felicity would never leave him. She had made her choice.

“No.” She could hear the shocked stillness behind her. “My life, my choice, remember.”

Still no response.

“You will return to Starling City.” He repeated woodenly.

“No! I will not leave you. I love you. No matter what you do, I will not leave you. I made my choice.” Felicity would fight. Oliver had taught her that no matter what, there was always another way.

“You will leave. You are no longer welcome in Nanda Parbat.”

“Oliver…” She whispered. Finally, that one murmured word got some reaction out of him.

“I am Al-Sah-eem! Warik Al Ghul! Heir to the Demon and YOU WILL OBEY!”

She flinched. Hard. Never had Oliver yelled at her. Yet, she would never give up on him, never abandon him. He had told her that he loved her, no matter what.

This was no matter what.

“No. You will not make me leave, you will not push me away, I will stay where I am. Love might be your weakness but love is my strength. There is no choice to make.”

Oliver stared at her, furious. She smiled slightly. Right there, at the back of his eyes, she could see his love for her, shining through. He was proud of her.

A clapping sound broke her gaze with him. Ra’s was leering down at her, slowly clapping.

“Well done, Al Sah-eem. You have chosen well. I admit I was perturbed at first, she is not warrior material. You have just proven to me that she has a spine of steel. A fine wife for my heir.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. _Wife? Did he just say_ wife? She looked up at Oliver.

He had come over to her, reaching a hand down to help her up from her knees. He intertwined their hands, standing and facing Ra’s side by side.

“The ceremony will take place tonight.” He called to an attendant sharply, ordering her in Arabic. “You will go with her, Mahabit Al Saheem, and dress in something more suitable. Now, go”.

“As you wish, Father.” Oliver bowed, tugging Felicity forward to follow him.

Straightening, they both followed the attendant. Felicity didn’t know what to make of this. She wished she could get the chance to talk to Oliver alone. She knew that this wouldn’t happen until later tonight, after they were _married._

She balked at the thought. Oliver drew her forward again, leaning against her ear.

“This isn’t the way I imagined it happening, to be honest.”

Felicity spun towards him. “You’ve imagined us getting married?” She whispered back incredulously. Oliver raised his eyebrows and continued following the attendant. After a few strides, he replied “ever since Sara was born. I saw you with her and knew that you were my everything. Something that I could never have and would never force upon you. I still don’t deserve you.”

“And you never will.” She rejoined. “But Oliver, how many times do I have to tell you, I _choose you!”_

They arrived back at Felicity’s room, the attendant whisking inside. Oliver held her back before she could reach the door. Quickly, he kissed her, the wordless plea of forgiveness and love. He broke away just as fast, leaving her there. But not before he said against her mouth “For the first time, I’m choosing you.”

He was right.

It was a beginning.

Their beginning in a field of goodbyes.   

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ geniewithwifi](http://www.geniewithwifi.tumblr.com) on tumblr as well. Come say hi!


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